Darkness Rising
by Cloaked Eagle
Summary: AU. All hope seems lost, and the Free Peoples of Middle earth are under siege. Can the King overcome the odds and still return?
1. Western Light

Darkness Rising 

Chapter I: Western Light

"Lord Glorfindel! Come quickly!"

Glorfindel quickly spurred Asfaloth forward to the head of the army of Imladris, rounding the last edge of the Mirrormere to where Elladan sat astride his own horse. "What have you seen, Elladan?" Instead of answering, the half-elf merely pointed.

To the southeast, the fair Naith of Lothlórien lay in ruin. Trees had been felled by the dozen, in a manner that Glorfindel recognised instantly as orc-work. Elladan looked at his commander worriedly. "Are we too late? Has my Grandmother fallen already?"

Closing his eyes, Glorfindel concentrated on the world of the Unseen, the realm where any who has seen the Light of Valinor shone like an unveiled star. After a moment, he smiled. "No, Elladan, fear not. The lady Galadriel lives still, and her people with her. Though the Naith is ruined, I sense that the Eldar still fight, gathered around Caras Galadhon to protect the mellyrn."

Elladan looked at him in a mixture of relief and shock. "Caras Galadhon is all they have saved? Cerin Amroth is lost?"

"I fear it is so," replied Glorfindel, and turned swiftly to survey his troops. Gathered from all those residing at the Last Homely House, they still numbered but a few hundreds. With luck and stealth, though, not to mention the combined powers of two Noldorin Exiles and a Ring of Power, they could still succeed.

Swiftly now he ordered his troops. Forth they rode with great speed, covering the twenty-five or so leagues to Caras Galadhon in a matter of hours. When they first heard the sounds of battle, he sent Elladan and Elrohir off with a wing each of cavalry, sweeping around to flank the enemy while Glorfindel struck straight at the heart of the orc-horde.

Forth swept the Elven troops, faster now than the wind itself. Glorfindel led the charge, crashing into the unsuspecting Orc army from behind. As they turned to counter him, Galadriel rallied her own desperate forces, now given new hope, and struck once more at the now-inattentive enemies pressed against the walls of Caras Galadhon.

Back and forth the battle raged, but slowly Glorfindel and Galadriel's armies were pushed back together to the bridge that led into the heart of Lothlórien. All hope seemed lost, but then Elladan and Elrohir struck simultaneously at the flanks of the enemy, cutting a wide swathe through the orc army and bringing down their commander within minutes.

The orcs fled, pursued by the cavalry of Imladris, save for a few who were quickly dispatched by Galadriel and the Galadhrim. Returning from the chase, Glorfindel met Galadriel at the Great Gates. Dismounting from Asfaloth, he bowed before her. "That was well fought, Lady Artanis."

Smiling at this use of her ages-old father-name, Galadriel nodded. "Yet still it would have been in vain were it not for your timely arrival. I thank you for that."

"Thank the Lord Elrond," replied Glorfindel, "for it was he who sent us."

"When next I see him, I will do just that," promised Galadriel. After a moment of silence, she asked, "Did my eyes deceive me, or were my grandsons leading that final attack?"

"Your sight has not yet failed you," said Glorfindel with a smile. "Elladan and Elrohir are accomplished in the ways of battle, much though we might wish it unnecessary. They are the best commanders in my force, a trait which," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "it seems they inherited from their grandmother."

Galadriel laughed, and the shadow of death left her face for a moment. Sadly, though, it returned soon after, when Celeborn strode over with a final death count. The numbers staggered Galadriel, who had for so long lived in peace.

"So many?" she whispered as Celeborn and Glorfindel moved to support her in her sudden weakness. "I have failed them..."

"Nay," replied Celeborn, "say not so. We have protected these people for over a thousand years. There has been no failure on your part, my wife." The silver-haired elf sighed, and shook his head. "Galadriel, we knew that our time here was coming to an end. The world is ready for the Dominion of Men, and we must pass West over the Sea. Those who fell here, we will meet again in a short time."

"Your husband speaks true," put in Glorfindel. "Lord Námo will not keep them long, for they were slain fighting for their friends and land, and moreover were not involved in the Rebellion. You will see them again soon."

"I hope that you are right," replied Galadriel, standing up straight again. Looking at her husband, she said, "You say the world is ready for the Dominion of Men, but I fear that, if we do not act, there will be no Men left." Turning to the south, she closed her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was distant. "This was not an isolated event. Orcs have struck at all the lands of the Free Peoples. Rohan and Erebor may fall within days. One who we had trusted has betrayed us, and he gathers all the forces of Sauron to himself. He will strike next at Gondor, before the King can return to take up his throne." Her eyes snapped open, and the fire within them was that of Artanis Nerwen, warrior of the Noldor. "I will not allow Saruman to destroy this world I have worked so hard to preserve. Glorfindel, prepare your troops. We ride to Minas Tirith at dawn tomorrow."

* * *

It's back.

This is the sequel to my previous story, _Darkness Falling_, and you really need to have read that to make sense of it. Fortunately, it's on my profile.

To anyone who read the previous one, I'm sorry about the wait. At the moment I have six of the ten chapters in this story finished, and I really am stuck on chapter 7. I know what needs to happen, but I cannot think how I'm going to do it. Nevertheless, I'll post those chapters that do exist, to save anyone watching the wait.

Expect the next chapter in a few days.

Cloaked Eagle


	2. Warrior and King

Darkness Rising 

Chapter II: Warrior and King

"Prin-- _King_ Legolas! Come quickly!"

Boromir followed Legolas up to the top of a small rise, from which one of the Elven scouts was calling. Looking out across the plain surrounding the Celduin, over what had once been the Desolation of Smaug, the warrior of Gondor could see a vast column of smoke rising. The group had been heading towards it for the past day, ever since finding the ruins of Lake Town. Their party had been slowly growing as refugees from Esgaroth and Mirkwood found and joined them, and thus a small force of fifty or more was at Legolas' disposal. Seeing what had caused the smoke, though, Boromir knew it was nowhere near enough.

The city of Dale was burning, and beyond it, at the gates of the Lonely Mountain itself, a massive horde of orcs was gathered. Gimli, who had followed the two, muttered, "Surely this army rivals even the size of that which attacked during the Battle, nearly eighty years ago."

Legolas turned to the dwarf. "How can you be so calm? Is that not your home they are attacking?"

"Aye, it is that," he replied. "But see, they have not yet taken the gate. Nor will they, while a single dwarf is inside to defend it. We have made many improvements to our stronghold, and could hold off an army for months if necessary."

"I think it _will_ be necessary," replied Legolas, "and more. These orcs managed to destroy my father's halls. They will not stop until they have done the same to Erebor."

Gimli drew breath for a retort, but Boromir placed a hand on his shoulder, and he backed down. "Legolas," the warrior said, "we have to free the mountain. It is not only dwarves who are in there, but the Men of Dale, and likely some of those who fled Mirkwood."

Legolas nodded. "I know. But what can we do, with so few to assist us?"

Boromir shook his head. "I know not. Perhaps-"

He was cut off by a voice crying in Sindarin. The trio span around to see an elf, not one who had been with their party, running towards them. Crying out, Legolas ran to the other elf and embraced him. After a few moments of hushed conversation, Legolas led the elf over to Gimli and Boromir. "This is the steward of my father's household," the king introduced him, "and he has told me of a large group of refugees, who have hidden in a warren of caves beside the river."

Boromir looked at the elf, eyes gleaming. "Will they be willing to help us liberate Erebor?" he asked. The steward nodded.

"We will fight to avenge our people, be we elves or men. The orcs will not live to do this again."

Boromir grinned. At last, he would have the chance to do battle once more, and he would fight alongside elves, too. From the expression on Gimli's face, he was thinking similar thoughts.

Legolas nodded. "Thank you. If you will lead us to your refuge, we will began planning at once."

The steward showed Legolas, Boromir and Gimli into a small cavern off the main tunnel, a few hours after they had arrived. They had not been able to begin planning immediately, because no sooner had Legolas stepped into the caverns than the elves dragged him off for a coronation ceremony. Now, though, while the people of Mirkwood, Esgaroth and Dale were celebrating, the King of Mirkwood had called his friends, the warriors of Gondor and Erebor, to a strategy meeting.

"We cannot rely on a frontal assault," said Boromir bluntly. "Even with the element of surprise, they would quickly recover and we would be cut down. Had we horses it would be different, but with this rabble? No."

"But what choice do we have?" asked Legolas. "The orcs are camped right up to the sides of the mountain. There is no hope that we could climb up either of the spurs without being seen. I remember the Battle of the Five Armies – we had great difficulty getting our armies into position then, and the enemy had not yet arrived."

Gimli coughed. "There is another way," he said. When they looked at him expectantly, he shifted uncertainly. "This other way has long been a secret from all outsiders. But I deem that now I must reveal it. However, I have not the authority. Legolas, do you know where my father may be found?"

"I do not," replied Legolas, "but I am sure my steward could bring him here." The elf rose, and took a step towards the door before the dwarf intercepted him.

"Nay, I must go with him. I need to speak to my father alone to persuade him to reveal this secret." Stepping over to the cavern entrance, Gimli looked around and then moved off, apparently having spotted the steward.

It seemed like hours, though it was in fact less than half of one, before Gimli returned with his father in tow. Accepting the mug of water Legolas offered, the aged dwarf sat down and told his secret.

"Nearly eighty years ago I, with thirteen companions, travelled from Eriador to Erebor, planning to retake the Mountain from Smaug. This, as you know, we did." He paused for a sip of water. "What you do not know is that, to gain entrance to the Mountain without the Dragon's knowledge, we used a secret door on the western face.

"Smaug destroyed this door, of course, once he know of its existence, but over the years we have rebuilt it. Those that remain of the Company of Thorin - Dwalin, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur and myself – are the only ones who hold the keys, and the knowledge of precisely where the door lies." He took a deep breath. "I am willing to lead your army into the mountain by that door, so that we may free my people."

Boromir frowned. "Forgive me, but I do not think that will work. The orcs will have patrols out, and they will be sure to sight so large a force, even if we move at night."

Legolas nodded. "If you were commanding a force of humans, that would be true. Here, however, you have elves with you. We may not be Noldor, but we do have some skills. We can keep the people hidden from enemy eyes while Glóin guides us. Boromir, I fear you will not have a great role in the movement, but you have experience of warfare on the open field which we elves do not. You will lead our army into battle."

Boromir nodded, seeing Legolas for the first time as a true king. The elf smiled at him momentarily, and then called in his steward and began planning the march.

* * *

Few days, few weeks... it's similar, right?

Good grief, but it's a long time since I wrote this... I hope it still holds up to scrutiny.

No promises about the next one, except that it's a Rohan chapter. I do like the Rohan chapters.

Cloaked Eagle


	3. For A Song

Darkness Rising 

Chapter III: For a Song

The Siege of Dunharrow was wearing on. Orcs swarmed continuously up the Stair of the Hold, and were repelled by the Rohirric archers. Up on Firienfield, however, things were beginning to look desperate.

"Théodred," called Éowyn, rushing into his tent, "the bowmen are down to their last quivers of arrows. One more big push and we'll be overwhelmed!"

Théodred bit his lip. He had never thought that the Kingship would be so hard. His father had made it all look so easy, at least while he was still in sound mind. Of course, his father had not had to fight a war, but nevertheless –

"Cousin," said Éowyn, shocking him back to alertness, "this is no time for reflection. Thus far there have been but a few minor injuries, but that will all change if – and I fear, _when_ – the orcs break through. You must act."

"And what would you have me do?" he cried. "I am no wizard to summon magical armies to our aid, or to produce fresh arrows out of the air! I cannot fight a war with no weapons, Éowyn. Ah! If we had only had a chance to send to Gondor for aid."

Éowyn frowned, and then leaned towards him, her expression curiously intent. "Théodred," she said, "listen to me. I have sent some of the older boys down to forage used arrows from the Stair while the orcs remain at the bottom, but that is only a temporary solution. To win this battle and save our people, you must do something unexpected."

"But what?" he asked, despairing. "It seems that everything we try has already been anticipated."

"Ride out," she replied. Théodred sat bolt upright.

"Éowyn! That's…"

"Insane? Yes, it is. Suicidal? Most likely." She paused, and her expression was fierce. "But is it better than cowering here until they come for us? I would say that it is."

Théodred smiled slightly. "You might say so, cousin, but I am not sure that the Riders will agree."

"They will," she replied, grinning. "While you have been here planning, I have been moving amongst the troops. They tire of waiting here to die. If the last two members of the House of Eorl ride forth, the Eorlingas will follow."

Théodred shook his head. "No, Éowyn, you cannot come. You must –"

"Théodred!" she yelled, and he jumped. "Do not presume to say such things to me! Was I not ever a better rider, a better fighter than you? While my uncle was still king I restrained myself, not desiring to show disrespect to his wishes, but you, dear cousin, are a different matter." He opened his mouth to protest, and she leaned forward. "Or do you wish me to tell the men of what happened on your first long ride?"

Théodred winced at the memory. "There will be no need for that. You may join us." As she drew breath to speak, he added, "You may lead with me."

Éowyn's face lit up. "Imagine the songs! Théodred and Éowyn, last of a great House, lead the Riders of Rohan in a heroic charge, smashing the enemy defences, levelling their camp, killing their leaders and decimating their troops. Why, we will be almost as famed as Eorl himself!"

Théodred raised an eyebrow. "Are you, then, so sure of our victory?"

She looked him straight in the eyes. "If we fail, the Riddermark will fall, and there will be no more songs. Ever." Taking him by the now-unresisting arm, Éowyn led her cousin out to where his horse waited.

_Arise now, arise, Riders of Théodred!  
__Dire deeds awake, dark it is northward.  
__Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!  
__Forth Eorlingas!_

Headlong they rode, charging down the steep path from the Hold of Dunharrow and smashing through the defences of the Orc army. One thousand Riders, all that remained of the Cavalry of Rohan, golden hair gleaming, swords and spears flashing. Onward they drove, the advantage of surprise with them, until they reached the very heart of the enemy horde. There, at least, they faltered, and there the casualties began to pour in.

In the thick of the battle, Éowyn appeared suddenly next to Théodred. Raising her voice to be heard over the sounds of fighting, she yelled, "We cannot fight like this! Separately we will be slaughtered! Call the Riders to you, pull them together! Then we might have a chance of escape!"

Nodding in reply, he raised himself in his saddle and called out. "Riders of Théodred! To me! To me, Eorlingas!"

All across the field the Riders wheeled and rode to their king, slaughtering the orcs around him and buying for themselves a momentary reprieve. When all were gathered, Éowyn took charge. "Form a spearpoint! We must push back to the Stair! We -!"

She was cut off by an almighty crash from the west side of the Orc camp. Wheeling to face this new threat, Théodred's mouth dropped open. From the mountain path into Harrowdale giant figures were striding, fully fourteen feet tall. Like great trees they looked, or like Men of wood. Over the orcs they trampled, heedless of the arrows striking them and the swords hacking at them, heading ever towards the beleaguered Rohirrim. As the foremost drew near, Théodred saw to his amazement a man sitting on its shoulder. His horse shifted nervously beneath him as Théodred rode forth to meet the newcomer, barely aware of Éowyn beside him.

"Hail, stranger!" he called. "I am Théodred, son of Théoden, First Marshal of the Mark! By what name are you known, and what business have you in the Riddermark?"

"And what are these things?" added Éowyn. Théodred turned to glare at her, and she shrugged. "You know you want to know."

The man laughed. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I knew your father of old. I am here to aid you in your battles. And these," he turned, gesturing at the Tree-men, "are Ents, out of Fangorn Forest. Quickbeam here is their leader."

"Hoom," said the Ent upon which Aragorn was seated. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Théodred of the Mark."

Théodred stared, stunned that something so large could speak. Aragorn, meanwhile, gave a little chuckle. "I think that Quickbeam's people can deal with the rest of the orcs. Do you suppose we could continue this conversation somewhere with food? I have been many days on the road, and a filling meal would be most welcome."

* * *

I do love that chapter.

Uh... as I've said before, there are more chapters written. Whether they'll be posted any time soon rather depends on whether I remember. So we'll see.

But I still love this chapter.

Cloaked Eagle


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